


needs

by cowboyflesh (cowboymeat), lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Breeding, Fluff and Smut, Gender Dysphoria (Brief and Vague), M/M, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Sexuality Crisis, Trans Male V (Cyberpunk 2077), Unprotected Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboymeat/pseuds/cowboyflesh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: "You’re gonna make me cum and you’re not even paying attention to me,” V teases with a smile on his lips. His thumb strokes at the bristle of River’s buzz cut. “What’s next, gonna make me a daddy while you read the morning news?”It’s a lighthearted comment, but River can feel his own flush coloring his cheeks richly, can hear his blood roaring in his ears. The implication that he’s done enough for V to think him worthy of starting a family is one thing, but the affectionate name he’s chosen for himself is another. Guess he knows where his interests lie.“If you’re into that,” Ward says meekly.“I wouldn’t be against it if you did it now.”
Relationships: Male V/River Ward, V/River Ward
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	needs

**Author's Note:**

> cw: cunt, cock, hole, folds used for V  
> disclaimer: the pregnancy fetish is a fantasy, and V's birth control is described (hysterectomy). V's gender dysphoria is brief and kept relatively vague.

Broad palms sweep over V’s bare chest, smoothing the wraps of bandages down and uncurling the edges. They keep stroking over his chest, broad with many years of hard living, even if it doesn’t cast a shadow on his own. 

The ministration of straightening the merc’s linen wraps is idle as River finds himself caught up with V’s lips. They move against each other in slow motions, rolling tongues like waves and soft breaths shared like the foam of the ocean blessing the sand. It was almost as if instinct pulled him against V, something greater than him that he can’t quite grasp.

V is more than happy to bear the effects of River’s own nature. Grounding the detective with hands settled on his hips, holding River steady as he fights inwardly with himself. He’s patient, resigned to wait for River’s touch, wait for the moment that he rises to the implicit pull of his very nature. The moment he overcomes the overpowering pressure to just be “normal.”

The rush of endorphins provided by witnessing V get attacked while on a stake-out spurred him into action. The dormant feelings he’s been repressing for the better part of a month, ever since V wandered into his life by chance because of an adjacent job and a meager lead, lept out through his lips and hands.

It wasn’t proper to say that V  _ changed  _ him in any facet; he wasn’t straightening out his sheets and pushing the shoe boxes under the bed. River was slowly taking the liberty unto himself to lift the bed and put out all that he’s been either too uncertain about or have simply forgotten to hang. Decorations that didn’t fit the narrative of the room, thoughts that traveled too loudly through the busy house.

He’s realizing that he has been decorating under someone else’s vision. It didn’t feel like home, not until V was in it. Not until he  _ accepted  _ V into it.

The plucking of the bandages is a nervous gesture. Still on the fence. River is both eager and reluctant as if he were trying to kiss death itself rather than V.

Perhaps the image of the death that tends to trail in V’s wake stains in ways that it shouldn’t. The prospect of a powerful partner, one fully capable and  _ expected  _ to be. A modern model of masculinity that somehow deviates from the allowances in his taste of women— something that has long since detracted from any hope of humoring. 

But V is also gentle. It dampens all the rough edges around him, helps River understand the spectrum between the newfound object of his desires and what he’s worked in his hands before. As if showing him that the world isn’t just water and dirt, that there are fine combinations of both— clay, mud, sand— and all of them crucial to how things work. Can’t have one without the other.

V’s hands don’t grip him like River himself will hold his partners. They stroke the accentuated line of his hips and up to his ribs in soothing motions. His patience with River’s flippancy is unprecedented in the detective’s very short history of trysts with men, boxed away and kept beneath the bed with the rest of his youth he’s walked away from. It was always too rough, too fast, too impersonal. 

V’s lips are soft, his eyes even softer. When his lips split for a lungful of air, he’s gazing at River with a burning heat. Unlike a blazing, all-consuming fire, V’s hunger feels like skin warmed by the sun, the temperature of August shade. It draws the hesitance from River, tempering his overheated nerves and bringing him back down from combustion point, all the while refusing to let him dwindle and snuff himself on his placidity.

Maneuvering V carefully, mindful of the several large cuts running across his chest in diagonal stripes of gauze wrapping, River leads him back to his bed. And V is content to be walked, allowing total control to fall onto River.

First sitting, and then falling into the comforter, V watches as River’s features twist into hesitance again. Hovering at his legs, splayed to allow the larger man between them, River’s hands float above V’s hips before settling. As if the touch would break him from his reality, push him back under the falsehoods he’s been compulsively clinging to.

Uncertain, clearly. Like V has a snake waiting to bite him in his underwear, or something equally sinister.

V takes one of River’s hands and edges it closer to his groin. Finding some familiarity first, growing comfortable with the unknown shape in the darkness before turning the lights on. There is no rush, not unless River wants it. If it stays entirely above their clothes, V supposes he can live with that. It’s more than enough considering the amount of internal push-back the detective has had to work through to even get his palms on the other man.

He doesn’t need to keep guiding River for him to take control again, as easy a pass of power as a cloud clearing the sun and traveling forever onward. Just as painless, just as uneventful.

Sucking in a soft breath through his teeth, V cants his hips and sighs happily as River rolls his palm over his heat. First, a testing motion before it firms, repeating it as he’s rewarded with little sighs and the sight of V kneading the comforter.

Throughout these broad strides in Ward’s confidence, he’s still riddled with doubt and anxiety. As if there were a third-person viewer lingering in the room, passing judgment on his inexperience. Ridiculing him in its manifestation in hesitancy and doubling back, a push-and-pull of will versus stigma. He does his utmost to swallow the uncertainty, to roll with it as a ship does on the rough tide. 

To even get to this point— viewing another man in an intimate light rather than one of a concerned friend— is leaps and bounds further than he’d have accepted upon their first meeting. Hours spent together commiserating and all-too-eagerly undressing their life stories and associated traumas stitched them together with ease. It was only a matter of time before such a connection shifted something within River and finally urged him into action. 

His catalyst took the form of the very brutal attack that necessitated the bandages. Witnessing V cut down as readily as autumn wheat is scythed, bleeding out onto the pavement as Ward reflexively pumped the attacker full of iron, was sufficient to kickstart a total self-evaluation. Beginning with a confrontation of his own mortality as he staunched the bleeding in the back of his truck, straddling the smaller man and then forcing his continued consciousness on the drive home. Then, a battle with his own assumed identity as he tended to V in the privacy of his trailer, their proximity during first-aid dredging up years’ worth of emotional baggage. 

What should have been relatively routine— the cuts being rather superficial despite the continental splotches of brown-ringed crimson tainting V’s tattered shirt— became more amorous as the mercenary inched into his space throughout his treatment. Initially, River merely thought it a symptom of fatigue rather than V deciding to finally make a move. He locked up when, rather than being used as a secondary spine, V’s lips graced his cheek. Even more so when a few choice words on V’s part— perhaps initially meant as a flirtatious joke to relieve tension— make blood rush south.

The resulting clash of deep-buried, repressed  _ want _ and the very foundations of his own identity is world-rending, excruciating. It played out all in the span of the roughly five minutes as he dressed V’s wounds, tugged the bandages taught, and fought to dissuade those unsavory thoughts promising to return the moment their afterglow fades. 

Ward is truly caught in his impulse now, with V’s encouragement and teasing in between muffled grunts of pain reaching a head. He’s no choice but to throw that self-doubt to the wind. Especially not now, as his fingers work the merc’s jeans loose and his fingers brush against the soft cotton of his briefs. Already, a pool of slick is gathering.

River casts a glance at V, wagers his confidence on the eye contact, as his thumb works against the swell of his arousal. His lips are parted as though words are about to pass through, but no words come. 

“You okay?”

“I’m alright, V,” Ward affirms as he loses his nerve to keep up their shared stare. His eyes slip down to the bandages, then the first feathering of hair starting at V’s lower belly. 

As if physically feeling the trail of River’s eyes, V arches his back then cants his hips to guide his gaze lower and lower. Ward’s hands follow the sweep of his eyes, hooking his fingers into the waistband of V’s jeans and tugging them down until they’re a belt around his thighs.

Familiar— the shape of V’s body under him. The ghost of contact against his heat makes V sigh through his nose, eyes fluttering shut. River’s thumb slides through the groove between his thighs, pressing the dampened cotton against his slit. His pulse picks up. Familiarity helps ease the lick of anxiety creeping up his throat trying to choke him into stillness.

Confidence firms his actions, thumb teasing the merc’s cock with a gentle pressure over the sensitive tip. What he earns is a soft groan; low and rumbling, tinged with excitement and softened by their intimacy, it sounds like church bells in River’s ears. Holy and pure, something River revels in.

Helping V free his legs from his jeans, River falls to his knees to worship.

The smaller doesn’t put up a fuss when River pulls his hips to the edge of the bed, lips busy between his teeth as he watches the reservations under Ward’s skin melt away. Jumping from his pores like a sheen of sweat, coaxed to the surface by the heat radiating from his cheeks, felt as he leans in.

Just an investigatory inhale, growing accustomed to the distinct smell of V’s sex. Earthy and oddly sweet, it makes River’s mouth water as his body reacts separately from his mind. Like ripened fruit, blackberries and bees, a delicacy that only grows once a year. His hands eagerly pluck at the hem of V’s briefs, unable to help himself as he takes a taste before he even picks V from his stem.

Nosing at V’s heat, River draws his tongue through the natural seam of his body and up. It elicits a breathless noise from V, who does his best to remain still lest he scares River off with his enthusiasm. It proves to be a struggle as just a hint of his taste reinforces the detective’s ministrations, until the front of his briefs cling to his shape and he’s panting against the back of his hand.

With a sharp tug, River urges him to lift his hips enough to slip his underwear off.

A flash of self-consciousness strikes V, locking him in place with his legs splayed for the other man. He knows that he is both familiar and foreign, and for just a moment he feels like he’s imitating something he shouldn’t for River. That his body is a matter of convenience, not to be looked into too hard lest the mirage shimmers and fades.

It passes quickly, however. River shows no cognizance towards the illusion V fears he’s casting. He knows what he’s seeing all too well, and appreciates it all, and makes sure V feels how deep his appreciation runs.

His breath puffs hot over V’s heat, causing a shiver to ripple up his spine. Doesn’t even cast a hesitant look V’s way, not before diving forward. His lips connect with the merc’s cock first, kissing at it sweetly and lapping at the tip. Then he opens his mouth, draws his tongue through V’s folds and wraps his lips around his cock.

Whatever apprehension that V was feeling towards this, towards the concept of being perceived so close to ambiguity—  _ could be one or the other, a means to an end _ — lifts off his chest like a weight coming loose. Instead, he feels appreciated, seen and worshipped like a scripture read right. River reads his philosophy with excitement, preaches it back into him in how he localizes his attention where V needs it most.

And by god, does he worship. The comfort of familiarity soothes the edge of uncertainty; as alien as laying with another man is to River— the mere fact that it’s  _ V _ guiding his hands,  _ V _ shifting and shuddering beneath him as his tongue works around hymns— makes him willing to devote himself wholly. His hands slide down the tops of V’s thighs as he nuzzles in further, no longer concerned with the potential for mess. 

All he cares for now is to provide for V. The comment over dinner lingers in his mind as his tongue swirls reverently over the head of the merc’s cock— that he wants a family someday. While Ward doesn’t necessarily consider himself family material yet, doesn’t feel worthy of that sort of title from anyone, much less from the nigh-holy man at his mercy, he  _ needs _ it. His tongue delves deeper. V’s thighs tremble ever-so-slightly.

V pulls him from his thoughts, forcing his head from the slick arousal and tilts it up to look at him. He’s flushed pink, lips red and shiny with muffled cries, perfect. A stone drops in his stomach. Did he do something wrong?

“Stop thinking,” the merc says fondly. There’s no harsh subtext to the command, borne purely of concern for the lack of pleased noises on Ward’s part. It’s all he needs to melt and lean into the assumed authority. 

“Did I—?”

“You’re gonna make me cum and you’re not even paying attention to me,” he teases with a smile on his lips. His thumb strokes at the bristle of River’s buzz cut. “What’s next, gonna make me a daddy while you read the morning news?”

It’s a lighthearted comment, but River can feel his own flush coloring his cheeks richly, can hear his blood roaring in his ears. The implication that he’s done enough for V to think him worthy of starting a family is one thing, but the affectionate name he’s chosen for himself is another. Guess he knows where his interests lie. 

“If you’re into that,” Ward says meekly. 

“I wouldn’t be against it if you did it now.”

River practically chokes. Out of his element, he’s not quite sure exactly what to say to that. 

“Don’t have to,” the mercenary amends. 

“No, I—” he clears his throat. “I’d like that.”

V cracks a smile as River rises to his feet, wrestling his belt, blushing to the tips of his ears, and pointedly ignoring the growing tent in his jeans. He can’t help it; it’s endearing. All the joytoys and one-night-stands and ex-boyfriends and parasites in his head couldn’t compare to the intimacy of inexperience. 

Finally freed of the confines of his pants, River slides them and his briefs off his thighs in one movement. He’s kind enough to do the same for his partner. Try as he might, V can’t tear his eyes away from the way Ward’s cock snaps to his belly in arousal once unrestrained. Indecent, really. 

It bobs as River steps back into the cradle of V’s thighs, hovering over his heat while the detective pauses. Looking him in the eye does it no service, so V decides to look with his hands. 

Reaching between them, the merc weighs the heavy length in his palm before wrapping his fingers around it. Thick, with a strong ventral vein pulsing against his comparatively cooler skin, but not overwhelmingly so. Other dimensions of the package he handles, however, may pose to be a bit of a tight fit. 

V is never one to shy away from a challenge. It makes it all the more alluring, the thought of River buried so deep inside him that he  _ does _ keep to his word and knocks him up in one fell swoop, despite the impossibility of it. 

He really oughta send Vik a thank-you card for a job well done— V considers it being of a father’s day theme. 

Being under such a thick lense of scrutiny makes River all the more pliant, desperate to prove himself even if it is a mental construct he’s affirming within his own mind and there are no real criteria for V to consider as he takes him. 

Somehow, without even meaning to, V has taken control from River. In such a delicate handling of their complicated relationship, V managed to hold his hand out flat and merely have River drop his dominance in exchange for submission. For the detective, V offers the bountiful feast that is his body, prime for consumption and healing for the soul. River in return provides his vulnerabilities and insecurities, bowing out gracefully and allowing V to steer the ship. 

Emitting a satisfied note, V teasingly thumbs at his slit and smears the fat bead of precum around the head before fisting it. Pumping just the first few inches, he works more from River, making his palm tacky with it, and works up a rhythm. Ward tentatively fucks V’s fist, bracing on either side of the smaller man’s waist, finding better leverage to pump more pre onto his stomach. 

V slides his free fingers through slick and saliva, spreading himself and dipping into his own messy hole. While River’s eyes have fluttered shut and his breathing has roughened, V takes the opportunity to stretch himself, seeing as he’ll need it. 

The jostling of River fucking his fist with increased fervidity draws out more desperation of his own. V simply needs Ward’s cock inside him, as soon as it will fit. 

He can’t help it as his eyes glaze over with a dreamy look as he tries to imagine the glorious stretch of River’s length pushing him to his limits. And he can’t help the soft moan that escapes as he fixates on his favorite part— the moment he feels the other spill his seed inside of him in a brutally intimate manner of claiming. 

“V, I’m gonna…”

“Hold on,” the mercenary orders, gentle but firm. The hand working River’s length slows to a stop, and even the lack of stimulation earns V another spurt of precum on his chest. The detective is packing heat, apparently. 

“Want you inside.”

“You sure?” River asks breathlessly. Already, a sheen of sweat highlights his features as he fights his natural instinct to succumb to V’s touches. The merc nods. 

“Need it.”

Ward swallows harshly before closing the distance between them again, shuffling into the space between V’s thighs. While he would usually do his partner the favor of lubing himself on their slick, to do so, in this case, would have him cumming as easy as a virgin. V catches his eye as he glances at the lube on the nightstand and easily retrieves it for him. 

Lubed up, River lines himself against V’s cunt. He makes one last snippet of eye contact before sliding home and watching V’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his cock just keeps pressing deeper. 

_ “Jesus,” _ the smaller man whispers. His brows are now furrowed, eyes shut tight as his hole struggles to accommodate the detective’s girth. It’s nigh overwhelming, how the other man pushes him to his limits and just keeps giving him more. His hole flutters around River’s cock, making the other man’s breath catch on the inhale as his insides massage him for all he’s worth.

“Too much?”

_ “Perfect.” _

River inclines his head, watching himself begin to roll his hips slowly. Watching the way his cock pumps in and out— excruciatingly slow compared to what he wants to do to V. His body is suffocatingly tight around him, evident in how simply pulling out makes V shift, rocking with every motion as he grips River. 

Fully seated inside him, he glances back up to watch the other’s expression shift. Where he’d expect mindless ecstasy, he finds V looking right back at him, almost piercing through him with newfound hunger. As self-conscious as it makes him initially, after a few seconds, he melts. He’s handed the reigns over to V to decide what to do with. 

“Fuck me,” the merc demands. The blush dominating V’s cheeks detracts nothing from his authority, almost accentuates it. The fact that he can maintain the demeanor even as his cunt gets stretched to its limit. 

“V…”

“Make me a daddy,” he urges. 

Who is River to deny him?

Though he begins slow, not wanting to outright hurt the man beneath him, the pace quickly becomes punishing. It doesn’t take too much speed to reach that point, but the effect is as intended. 

V’s thighs wrap around his hips, preventing him from getting too far away from him. The result is a short, rabbiting rhythm that drives too deep, too hard, punching creaking gasps out of V each time.

It’s all too much, the breathy moans in River’s ear urging him to flood him, the way his walls downright milk his cock, the creak of the bed beneath him. Embarrassingly, Ward is already teetering on the edge. 

“You gonna knock me up?” V huffs in his ear, holding onto the broad shoulders above him for dear life. 

That’s all it takes. River groans deep in his throat as he falls off the edge he had been clinging desperately to. Burying his face in V’s neck, he pumps his load deep into the other man, desperate, rabid thrusts that make the merc’s nails dig into his back.

“There you go,” V pants, guiding River’s hips with the lock of his ankles behind his back, making sure he takes everything Ward has to offer.

Straightening, never pausing in his pace, River looks almost dazed as his hands fall to V’s hips. While wrung through one orgasm, he finds himself somehow invigorated, as if he were merely lightening his load. His own cum makes V’s cunt even hotter around him, and the smaller man works to milk every last drop out of him until he realizes that River’s nowhere near finished.

Something close to a startle happens when V recognizes it, his eyes going wide as he watches River handle his legs and push his knees almost to his chest. An embarrassing squeak leaves him as River gives one full thrust, pulling out to the tip and roughly fucking his way back into V’s heat. The new angle makes it so that his cock rubs just right, striking that sweet spot that makes V’s legs tremble and his head go blissfully empty.

“Like that?” River says between ragged pants, bucking his hips roughly as he watches, transfixed, as V absolutely melts into the sheets. The mercenary can only nod his head fervently at first, gone momentarily mute as pleasure floods his entire body, rippling down his spine and appearing in little tremors.

“River—” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before they slide back open to watch Ward’s cock disappear between his legs, “r-right there. Please.”

Hearing all he needed to, River groans gutturally as he shifts further over V. The experimental rhythm becomes a steady pounding, the sound of skin-on-skin contact as loud as the sound of slick and cum being worked from V’s cunt, but no louder than the sweet cries and whimpers he’s earning for his performance.

No one would believe him if he were to say that V was a cute man— not just for his presumed distaste for men in general, but because of the fact that V outwardly projects himself as one of the most dangerous men in Night City, and rightfully so. Mantis blades, deadly reflexes and pinpoint accuracy, his rap sheet of successful gigs and missions miles long with anywhere from gang turf wars to tracking and defeating Adam Smasher single-handedly.

But here he is, lying beneath River with one hand brought to his lips to teeth at his knuckles and the other desperately tangled in the chain of his dog tags. His blush reaches down to his chest, dusting it in baby pink that accentuates his many freckles and beauty marks, while his eyes struggle to remain open to watch his own devastation. And his sounds— River doesn’t want anyone to believe him if it means keeping those beautiful moans and rising crescendo of whimpers and whines to himself.

V’s breath hitches for a word, caught in his throat, and choked on by another moan before River manages to fuck it free.

_ “F-fuck—!” _

River watches V try valiantly to bite down the words as they tumble free, gnawing the soft flesh of his lips red as he struggles to cling to the precipice of his release. Latched onto River’s forearms, blunt nails digging into the soft flesh, a ripple of pleasure overtakes him and leaves him arching off the bed. Hands slipping free to claw at the bedsheets, a low wail escapes as his climax overtakes him like a great wave, throwing him under and drowning out all the thoughts in his head in a wash of blissful emptiness. 

Groaning as V’s cunt tightens around him, River works the smaller man through his world-rending end. Gorgeous in the way his chest heaves for desperate breaths only to expel them as beautifully broken whimpers and gasps, how his thighs tremble mightily in River’s palms, fighting the firm grip on them as he tries to reflexively cross his legs, and how his eyes flutter open in a daze of euphoria. 

Not slowing all the while, River pounds into V until the merc is whining deliriously. His walls entirely too sensitive, each stroke renews the fierce shivering of his legs and turns the heat in his stomach to molten lava, burning through him and fraying his vocal cords as he voices the tortured pleasure he’s in. 

The second round of cum spilling into him is too much for him to handle, as even with River snapping his hips forward and sheathing himself as deep as he can fit, excess spills out and trails down his thighs. With the stamina, size, and seemingly volume of a bull, V swears as it just keeps coming. His head feels full of cotton, addled with nigh-crazed arousal despite his body sagging under the force of gravity from the exertion. 

With a ragged sigh, River finally releases the death-grip he had taken beneath V’s knees and gently lowers the man’s legs to the bed. They immediately, albeit clumsily, tangle around the detective’s waist, keeping him trapped in their cradle as they allow for their breaths to even out.

Eyes fluttering back open where they had squeezed shut in the height of his second, overwhelming climax, River catches V grinning at him, a little lopsidedly. The legs behind his back squeeze him with a playful huff, and River feels his cock throb even as it starts to lose its hardness.

“Think it’s gonna take?” V muses, his arms opening up and beckoning River down with a little flutter of his fingers. Going down easy, careless in how his weight forces a puff of air from V’s lungs, River wraps his arms around the smaller’s chest and hugs him tight for a moment.

“Might have to try again,” he says, voice dipping into a selective range designated just for V’s ears, taxed from vocalizing his pleasure and preyed on by exhaustion. “Gotta make sure.”

V hums softly at that, finding a nook beneath River’s chin to tuck his head. He settles his hands on the other man’s biceps, thumbs stroking the defined line of his tricep as he fights the edges of sleep creeping into his vision. He’ll be damned if he sleeps in a mess of this size, even if River seems content to.

**Author's Note:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)


End file.
